


stab wounds

by filthysynapsid



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Mild Language, dante and nero showing how much they care through insults, they're going to have lots of family bonding time together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 11:57:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10639380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filthysynapsid/pseuds/filthysynapsid
Summary: based on this tumblr prompt“Dying of a stab wound is very natural,” Dante says with a shrug.“How about I try to find out how many stab wounds it takes until you die?” Nero asks, raising his sword and pointing it at Dante’s chest. “I already got one, remember?”





	

Sweat drips down the back of Nero’s neck, tickling his skin as it rolls down between his shoulder blades. He shifts his shoulders to adjust his sword pressing against his back, trying to get his already damp shirt to absorb the moisture. Despite the thick canopy of leaves overhead, the temperature underneath is sweltering. Or maybe that’s why it’s so damn hot, Nero thinks. Too thick for even a decent breeze to come through. It’s been hell ever since the Mitis Forest became a hotbed for demons. Literally.

Trudging behind Dante through the forest with swarms of bugs hovering around his face isn’t exactly the idea he had in mind today. A loud buzzing noise moves near his ear again, pissing him off. He considers reaching for the Blue Rose to take care of this problem. Maybe it’s going a little overboard, but it would make him feel better. Nero clamps his fist around the offending insect instead, feels the satisfying crunch of it dying in his palm—and then feeling instant regret. “Disgusting,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his hand. When the crushed carcass doesn’t dislodge, Nero resignedly wipes it on his pant leg.

Nero plants his feet on the ground, fixing Dante’s back with glare, his irritation rising with the temperature. “So you wanna run it by me again why you dragged me out here?”

Dante takes another step, then stops. His hands settle on his hips when he turns around, apparently unaffected by the unnatural heat or Nero’s attitude.  “Well, seeing as I never told you in the first place—aw, come on, kid, don’t give me that skin-peeling look. It doesn’t suit that sweet face of yours,” Dante says, flashing that same self-sure, shit-eating grin.

Nero shakes his head, annoyed, and pushes past Dante. “I’m not sweating my ass off for—”

“Don’t tell me that you don’t enjoy spending some quality time with me. You might hurt my feelings.”

That is bullshit if he ever heard it. Which, with Dante, is often. Nero gives him a one-fingered salute, heading towards the entrance of the forest. “Don’t waste my time, Dante.”

Dante grabs his shoulder, keeping Nero from walking off. “Relax. There’s something I thought you’d want to see. Think of it as… a little exercise.”

That catches Nero’s attention. Several months have passed since he fought the Savior and things are finally settling down. Demons are becoming scarce as the Hell Gates are located and destroyed. Fortuna is being rebuilt slowly and lives are returning to normal—boringly so. The Order of the Sword remains intact, which probably has more to do with the stability the organization brings to the city than anything else. Several knights from the Order defected after learning that corruption ran through the ranks, and others were prosecuted for being in league with Sanctus. That meant long hours and mind-numbingly boring shifts for those who remained. Which is where Dante found Nero earlier this afternoon: patrolling the outskirts of the city, looking to pick a fight with any demon stupid enough to show up.

Nero reflexively runs his fingers over the hard skin on his right arm. He knows if he hadn’t been the one to defeat the Savior, this arm of his would have had him detained and, worse, executed for being a demon—half demon, anyway. But being a hero has it perks, he figures. Like being able to keep his job and stay in the city with Kyrie, even if also comes with children running after him and trying to touch his arm or stick flowers in the crevices all the damn time. He has to admit that Kyrie’s laugh and the way her eyes light up is worth it. Now if he could just make his arm stop glowing.

Nero rounds on Dante, rolling his shoulders in preparation of a fight. He can forgive Dante for being an ass. This time. “You could’ve just said that earlier instead of ‘hey, kid, wanna go out for a stroll?’.”

Another Hell Gate appearing in the Mitis Forest means trouble for Fortuna and it doesn’t come as a surprise to Nero that Dante showed up just to take it down. There was never a moment that Dante _wasn’t_ in the thick of some battle or plot. It was the reason Nero came along in the first place. Everything is so damn dull after the fight months ago. Guard this, watch that, dispatch an occasional demon. Rinse and repeat.

“Itching for a fight, aren’t ya?” Dante says with a laugh, placing a hand on the Rebellion’s hilt. “Well, you’re just gonna have to wait for the rest of the party to arrive.”

“And when do you expect that to be? You know waiting around really ain’t my style.”

Dante tilts his chin up, gesturing at the dense brush before him. It’s the same nonchalance that he always carries, even when he was standing knee-deep in a pile of demon corpses. Nero kind of admires that, in a begrudging sort of way.

Nero smiles, flexing his fingers on his right hand. Pressure creeps up his arm in a way that almost feels like it’s being pumped with fluid, blue light pulsing in time with whatever demonic energy is nearby. It’s not an easy sensation to get used to even now, but he’s never been one to turn down a chance to blow off some steam and kick demon ass.

A concussion of sound ripples through the air, as if something too large displaced the world around it. The forest stills.

Nero snorts. “What did you say about waiting?”

A loud gurgling, like someone laughing under water, echoes in the forest, accompanied by the scrape of metal against metal. It’s not long before more voices join the first, making the skin on Nero’s neck prickle.

“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” Dante says.

“Yeah, maybe for you, old man.”

Before Nero can put his hand on Red Queen’s hilt, Dante’s sword flashes over his shoulder, impaling a demon through the chest. It shrieks in frustration, claws scrabbling at Rebellion’s blade, trying to pull itself closer to Dante. He swings his sword, the demon rising with it, and slams it into the ground. The body shudders brokenly and goes still.

Dante’s brows hitch, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. “You were saying?”

Nero slings Red Queen from the strap on his back, bringing the blade level before him. “You know what they say, ‘age before beauty.’”

Demons emerge from the underbrush, dozens of them if Nero had to guess. The entourage before the big bad, no doubt. Their heads and limbs jerk in anticipation of finding quarry, and they lunge at them with no awareness of their companion rapidly decomposing between the two hunters.

There’s no time for any more jabs at Dante’s expense. Nero raises his arm to block a demon’s strike, limb going numb from the impact. The demon’s mouth cracks open and screams, it’s rancid breath making Nero’s face twist in disgust. “Looks like that’s all you’ve got, but I’m just getting started.”

Nero kicks out at the demon’s chest and sends it crashing against a tree, running his blade through its rib cage and splintering the wood behind it. He yanks his sword out, twisting his body to meet two demons that have cornered him. With his finger on the sword’s trigger, Red Queen roars to life on the downward swing that decapitates one and lodges half way into the other’s neck. Black blood gushes around the wound, staining the steel dark. Nero relieves the demon of its upper half with another rev of his sword. This is barely going to be a workout.

After several minutes, the two of them are surrounded by corpses. Dante has a demon impaled under him—well half of one. He gives Rebellion a twist for good measure and pulls his sword out with a sickening noise, lifting the bloodied tip and gesturing at Nero’s kills scattered across the forest. “Looks like I win. All yours died naturally.”

“Did the definition of ‘stab’ and ‘slice’ change recently?”

“Dying of a stab wound is very natural,” Dante says with a shrug.

“How about I try to find out how many stab wounds it takes until you die?” Nero asks, raising his sword and pointing it at Dante’s chest. “I already got one, remember?”

Dante lifts his hands in mock surrender, but he looks anything but innocent with demon blood splattered across his face. “Alright, alright. How about one last round? Winner takes all. Try not to feel too badly when you lose, though.”

The sound of trees shuddering and cracking pulls Nero’s attention to the east. Birds explode out of the canopy at the same time a massive, disfigured shape lumbers into the small clearing.

Nero pulls his gun out of the holster and aims at the demon’s head. “I don’t think I will, Dante,” he says, and fires.

**Author's Note:**

> yo. i honestly have no idea what i'm doing, but i hope whatever it is was enjoyable. stay tuned for more!
> 
> you can also find me [on tumblr](http://devilbringr.tumblr.com).


End file.
